Thin
by Mrs. Elizabeth Gibbs
Summary: "The tips of her fingers brushed her mouth, flirting with her lips. The hollow of her wrist caught the light, her skin translucent. She was a skeleton- but in her eyes, she was beautiful." Angst. Jibbs relationship. Eating disorder fic. One-shot.


A/N: Can't really explain where this came from; I just got the idea a few nights ago and started writing it in my notebook, and I've finally gotten around to typing it. I recently re-read the book 'Wintergirls' by Laurie Halse Anderson, which probably helped to fuel this idea, and I think it's a book everyone should read.

Yes, this is an anorexia fic. If that's too sensitive for you, then do not continue to read. I know personally how triggers can be; I don't want to inadvertently set anyone off.

Don't go looking for a happily ever after.

Disclaimer: Do not own anything aside from the plot idea.

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><p>Looking at her hurt him.<p>

His favorite pastime had at one point been watching her. The way her hair fell, the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts. She'd been able to hypnotize him.

Now her hair fell limp, her hip bones could carve ice, and her breasts were shrunken.

The descent had been slow- but he hadn't been quick enough to catch her even then.

She didn't believe him. Didn't see it. Didn't acknowledge that she was sick.

The lie "I'm fine" left her lips so often, he was almost positive she believed it. No matter how many times she told it, however, he never would.

He watched her now, heart aching in his chest. Her movements were no longer graceful and fluid- they were slow and painful, desperate in their movements.

The skin of the nectarine was almost too much for her thin fingers- he watched her struggle for a moment with a heavy heart before she conquered the citrusy fruit, peeling the orange skin away to reveal the tender pulp.

"Do you want to split this with me?" she asked softly, motioning towards the small fruit on the plate in front of her. The meal she considered breakfast was barely enough to sustain a toddler, and she was asking him to split it. He inhaled, pain invading his chest as he shook his head, hoping that by saying no she'd eat it all this morning.

"Coffee's fine," he replied quietly, watching the tiny light in her eyes dim almost completely.

"Okay," she whispered, face turning downwards to her plate. "I just don't know if I'm hungry enough to finish this and I wouldn't want to waste it."

He was surprised she couldn't hear his heart breaking.

The rest of breakfast was quiet; Jethro pretended to read the paper while Jenny picked apart the flesh of the nectarine, only half of the fruit actually making its way to her mouth. Jenny made a show of cleaning up, trying to make noise to cover the silence between them. Her hands shook as she held the plate, the weight almost too much for her thinning muscles.

She put the plate in the draining board and dried her hands, making her way for the doorway when Jethro stood, walking towards her and opening his mouth.

"Jenny."

Her name left his throat in a hoarse whisper, pain radiating in his voice. She stopped, turning back in his direction in a slow circle, her shirt billowing around her thin, emaciated frame.

"Please listen to me," he asked, his voice begging with her to do as he asked. Her breath caught in her throat, her rib cage moving with the shallow breath she took. "We need to get you help."

"I don't need help," she replied simply, lifting one hand upwards. The tips of her fingers brushed her mouth, flirting with her lips. The hollow of her wrist caught the light, her skin translucent. She was a skeleton- but in her eyes, she was beautiful.

"Jenny- Jenny if you love me, you'll listen," he tried, a pleading note entering his voice. Her angular face softened slightly, her thin lips parting.

"I do love you," she whispered, tears touching the corners of her eyes. "Oh Jethro, I love you so much."

"Please," he murmured, voice roughened as it left his throat. "Please, Jenny."

She reached his side, her cold, sharp hands touching his cheeks as she leaned in close, kissing him, hard.

Her lips didn't feel the same against his- the kiss was foreign, hard; unfeeling. His mouth went dry, his throat closing up. He was losing Jenny in every sense of that word. And he didn't know how to stop it.

He broke the kiss abruptly, feeling her flinch slightly as he pulled away, chest aching.

"We need to call someone, Jenny," he whispered, not looking at her. There was a heavy, thick silence, and he forced himself to look at her.

The green in her eyes had faded, the last bit of color in her disappearing as she began to slowly drift further away from him. Her hands, once soft and warm, were now bony and cold- the hands of someone far older. She was nothing, merely air, so light he couldn't even hold her. One puff, and she'd be gone.

"Jethro, I'm fine," she repeated once more, firmly, a spark entering her emerald eyes for a moment. It disappeared only a moment later, and he swallowed. She smiled when he said nothing, thinking she'd won, and walked away.

He listened to her getting her things together for the work day; no one took the time to notice that she was fading away before their eyes. He gritted his teeth, his hand fisting into the newspaper he held, anger coursing through his veins.

Jenny walked back into the kitchen, her pea coat dwarfing her small frame, purse in hand, briefcase over her shoulder. Jethro tried to relax himself, smoothing out the paper and folding it.

"I have a meeting with SecNav," she said, her arms dangling loosely at her sides. "I'll see you at work?"

He nodded, throat too thick to speak, and she sent him a half-smile, but the cracks in her armor were the only thing he could see. She turned, hair flipping over her shoulder as she walked, her for-once flat shoes making no sound as she made her way to the door.

Jethro's closed fist rested on the counter, his cell phone in the other hand. His lips were a firm line, eyes staring at the phone, as though waiting for it to give him an answer. The black plastic stared back at him, the time displayed in those thick block numbers. Should he call, behind her back?

The silence of the house was the only answer he got.


End file.
